Hide and Seek
by pretentious-emo-kid
Summary: They called it the Hide and Seek plan... This is going to stretch out into a long multichap. It's sort of silly, but not entirely ridiculous. RH, RoM, mentions of other series 5 characters. Sorry for the long absence, folks. Personal stuff.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay. This is really quite different to what I'd usually do. It's pretty silly, hopefully a little funny in places, and unapologetically self-indulgent. Hopefully, should be a nice little bit of fun after the angst-fest that was 'Voicemail'.

Basically – 505 never happened. In terms of Harry and Ruth, let's say they went on the date, she turned him down like in the show (when he went to ask her out again) and they've just been drifting since. This story has elements of HR, RoM (one I've always wanted to try, but have been a little nervous about), and flashes (literally) of JoZaf (friendship or otherwise – take it however you wish).

This will be a lo-ong one, folks, stretching over quite some time, I would imagine.

* * *

**Chapter One**

They called it the Hide and Seek plan.

It had been Harry's idea; just after the attempted coup d'etat, the Djakarta incident, he had pointed out that times were changing. The country was becoming a place he no longer recognized, and they needed to be prepared for that. This time, it had been him who was betrayed and detained, but next time it could be any one of them. Worse yet, someone else could face the same end as Colin – something no one wanted to see happen again.

So the Hide and Seek plan had been born. Because they needed to be ready for _anything_.

It was genius in its simplicity really; a way that they could all disappear simultaneously if the situation demanded it. They doubted that they would ever need to use it, but just having it set out was something of a comfort; particularly to Harry, who was fiercely protective of his team.

Hide and Seek was based on a series of code words:

Racehorse = 24 hours

Whistles = 48 hours

Adder = 72 hours

Pinstripe = 96 hours

Parasol = 120 hours

Crescent = Minimum

Everest = Moderate

Whiskey = Maximum

The first set of words referred to the amount of time whoever had triggered the plan felt that it was necessary for the team to conceal themselves for, the second set described the threat level as he or she perceived it.

These words would be sent via text message to the rest of the team by anyone who felt it necessary. From then, the team would split into groups of two, based on the proximity of their home addresses. Zaf and Jo, Ros and Malcolm, Harry and Ruth. Adam would of course prioritize arrangements for Wes' safety, and for this reason, was partnered with no one. In the event of Hide and Seek being triggered, he was on his own.

Once the initial text warning was sent, there was to be no further contact between the team members. Instead, the pairs would immediately proceed to a pre-determined rendezvous point, known only to them. From there, they would travel together to pre-determined safe houses, tucked away in obscure locations, and once more, known only to themselves.

And there they would stay, for however long the situation demanded, completely hidden from the rest of the world.

When the designated period of time was up, the separate pairs would make their way to a second rendezvous point, and there the team would reassemble. From there…well…they'd cross that bridge when they reached it.

* * *

**Thursday, January 7****th****. 20:02**

Ruth warmed her hands around the polystyrene cup.

"I told you it would do us good to get off the grid for a bit," said Harry, looking intently at her as she blew on her coffee.

"You did," she replied softly.

"And it's an established fact that I am always right," he added, determined to provoke her into a reaction.

He knew it had worked when she smiled sweetly at him. "Not always," she murmured with a hint of amusement, "But often, yes."

He smiled back, and together they looked out across the embankment.

_Of course_ the moment was ruined. Harry's phone pipped shrilly from his inside pocket. Scowling, he pulled it out and studied the screen.

"Anything imp-?" started Ruth, but her own mobile suddenly vibrated in her handbag. Her cold hands fumbled as she brought it out.

FROM: ADAM

PARASOL. WHISKEY.

She looked up worriedly at Harry, who flipped his phone around to reveal the exact same message.

If it had been a film, one of them would have quipped that they could at least skip meeting at the embankment, but as it was, they simply gathered up their belongings and made their way swiftly away from the bench they had been perched on. Instinctively, Harry's hand rested on the small of Ruth's back, leading her through the sparse evening crowds.

"Transport?" she asked simply, any trace of awkwardness chased away by the magnitude of the situation – she was all business now.

"We have to presume my car isn't safe. We'll need to hotwire one."

She gave a stiff nod. "And the others…?"

"They know the plan," replied Harry.

* * *

Ros was pan frying chicken when her phone shuddered softly on the coffee table. Rolling her eyes, she calmly wiped her hands on a tea towel, and crossed over to it.

FROM: ADAM

PARASOL. WHISKEY.

Without a single utterance, she turned the hob off, removed her saucepan and entered her bedroom. In the wardrobe, she had an overnight bag of essentials ready and packed for just such an eventuality. She retrieved it, slung it over her shoulder, and left the house.

She didn't bother locking the door.

* * *

Malcolm's fingers tapped a rapid drumbeat on his paper. Twice, the waitress had asked him if he wanted to order something; twice, he had politely declined, explaining that he was waiting for someone. He hoped Ros would arrive soon; if the whole charade was repeated a third time, the waitress would definitely remember him – especially if some nice man helped jog her memory by pressing a gun to her head.

Luckily, as he glanced yet again out of the window, he saw a familiar intimidating blonde glaring back at him. She jerked her head in a beckoning gesture, and Malcolm exited the pizzeria to join her.

"Is that why you were so long?" he asked disapprovingly, gesturing to the black bag she was holding.

"No," she shot back coldly. "This was already packed." She paused, looking mildly abashed. "There was traffic."

Malcolm looked around, but he couldn't see her car anywhere. "You drove?"

"Some of the way. I had to ditch my car."

"Where?"

"Traffic jam," she said simply.

Malcolm's eyes widened. "You abandoned your car in the middle of a traffic jam?" he asked, incredulous.

Ros shrugged her affirmative reply, and he wondered why he had bothered to ask.

* * *

Hope you like my Ros and Malcolm. Eep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I was going to leave it longer before posting again, but because of the _fantastic_ response I got from everybody, I thought, 'screw it'. Next chapter for you, folks.

Thanks for the reviews. =D

**Chapter Two**

**Thursday, January 7****th****. 21:32 **

Adam wondered what his son was dreaming about.

"And there you were thinking that he'd have trouble settling in," smiled Lucy, entering the room from behind him.

Adam laughed softly. "Lucky kid," he whispered. "Doesn't matter where he is. He's out like a light in seconds."

They both watched Wes sleep for a moment, then Adam spoke again.

"You will look after him, won't you?"

He winced as soon as the words had left his mouth. Of course Lucy would look after Wes. He turned to face her and apologise, but she was still smiling at him.

"Adam, you don't have to worry. You and Richard might have spent your whole life trying to 'protect' me, but despite your best efforts, I've picked up a few things. Wes and me'll be fine. Just concentrate on what you have to do."

Adam nodded, and gently kissed her cheek. "Thanks Luce'."

--

The cold bit at his face as Adam headed towards his car. Sliding into it, he took a few moments to breathe on his hands, desperately trying to warm them up. Once he had regained some of the feeling in his fingers, he reached into his coat and pulled out the folded up piece of paper his contact at six had passed him just over an hour ago.

As he let his eyes wander over the page, taking in each of his friend's faces as they stared back at him, he remembered his contact's words.

"_Adam, just for once. Trust us to do our job."_

"_But I don't get why this _is_ six's job. How do you even know about it?"_

"_It came up during one of our ops, and seeing as how we couldn't really pass it over to you guys, we thought we'd stray out of our jurisdiction for once."_

"_For once?"_

"_Oh, so that's gratitude, is it? Yeah thanks mate." A beat. "But seriously, the best thing section D can do right now is get their heads down, and keep them down. Let us take care of things."_

Adam sighed, refolding the crumpled sheet. He hoped he'd made the right decision.

* * *

**Friday, January 8****th****. 00:08 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Ruth entered the bed-sit briskly, testing a couple of light switches.

"No electricity," she noted aloud over her shoulder.

In reply, Harry whipped out a book of matches from his pocket, and lit a dusty candle stump on the windowsill.

"Always be prepared," he said grimly, as the late-night black window reflected a dim glow over the room.

Ruth grinned, her tired eyes flashing in the darkness. "Do all scouts go on to become spies?" she asked.

Harry adopted a mock-guilty expression. "Only the ones who had a tendency to set the scout leader's tent on fire."

"Are you joking?" gasped Ruth.

Harry shook his head with a smile. "As much as it pains to admit it – no."

Ruth rolled her eyes, and fished about in her bag for some mystery item. Whilst she searched, Harry looked about them. There wasn't much to see. The safe-house, as it was rather optimistically called, was actually a tiny, damp bed-sit. It comprised of a cramped sitting room stroke kitchen, and what he presumed to be a bathroom, hidden behind a door in the far corner of the room. Their furniture amounted to one single mattress, and a rather distressed looking beanbag.

And that was pretty much it.

Harry's observations were interrupted by a sudden gasp of triumph from Ruth, and he turned to see her pull a torch, approximately the same length and width as a cigar, from her handbag.

"And I thought _I_ was prepared," he noted.

Ruth scowled good-naturedly at him, and shone the torch around the room, taking stock. He waited for her judgment.

"It's…basic," she offered finally.

Harry laughed. "Ruth, it's a bloody stone age cave."

"Mmm." It proved the extent of her real feelings that she did not even try to argue with him, and put an optimistic spin on things. "I seem to remember," she continued after a moment, "That when I asked if you wanted me to compile a list of possible safe-houses for Hide and Seek, you said that you would take care of it."

She was reminding him who it was that had brought them there.

"I chose it because it was out of the way," he explained defensively. It was true – stuck in the middle of nowhere, no maintenance bills for at least a decade, the bed-sit was as close to crawling under a rock that they could manage.

Ruth took one final glance around, before clapping her hands together, and saying in a cheery voice, "Well, it's certainly that. We'll be perfectly safe here." She passed him the candle. "You do a reccy in the bathroom, and I'll check the cupboards."

Harry nodded, happy to let her be in charge, and headed towards the bathroom. Meanwhile, Ruth took her torch, and started searching through the kitchen cupboards.

It wasn't bad really – plenty of tinned food, a big box of candles and tea lights, and numerous bottles of drinking water, among other things. The second cupboard, she noted was much shallower than the first. Placing her torch carefully on the floor, she reached into the cupboard, and ran her fingers around the crease in the wood. The false back came away easily in her hands, and revealed two guns and a few rounds of ammunition nestled in a carrier bag.

She slipped the wood back into place, and turned to see Harry re-entering the room.

"Well?" he asked.

She nodded. "Everything we need to stay alive," she replied. "What about in there?"

Harry made a noncommittal gesture.

"Running water," he said eventually. It left Ruth in little doubt as to the rather less than luxurious state of the bathroom. Still, as long as they could wash themselves.

"Toothbrushes, soap?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "_All_ the basics are in the cabinet." He threw her a significant yet gentlemanly look, and she nodded again, this time to show that she understood. She was grateful for his tact, not that the news really affected her.

Harry looked around them once more. "It's freezing," he pointed out, "And without electricity, that thing," he gestured to the heater in the corner of the room, "Isn't going to be any use."

"There are some blankets in here," said Ruth, reaching into one of the cupboards and extracting said items.

"Well," he said after a short silence. "I can't see that there's much else to do other than try and get some sleep. After all, it is," he checked his watch, "Ten past twelve."

Ruth closed the cupboard and stood up. "I suppose you're right," she replied.

Simultaneously, their eyes fell on the small mattress.

* * *

Ros forced the warped wooden door open and stepped into the kitchen.

"Well, it smells alright," she noted, walking forward a few paces to allow Malcolm to enter the house. "So it's passed the first test."

Malcolm looked about him, and let out a breath.

The farmhouse was small, there was no heat or light, and not a stick of furniture to be seen from where they stood, but it was clean, and dry, and, all-in-all, could have been much, much worse.

Ros began to rifle through the larder, occasionally emitting an approving murmur. Malcolm left her, and wandered out of the kitchen to explore the rest of the house.

His first impression had been right; there was no furniture anywhere, but there was a large fireplace in the sitting room, with, he could see through the darkness, plenty of logs, coal, firelighters, and kindling piled up beside it.

"Ros," he called, "I think we should sleep in here. There's a fireplace."

Ros stepped into the room. "Fine."

She threw something at him, and he unfurled it to see that it was a thickly quilted sleeping bag. She had another under her arm.

"Found them in the larder," she explained.

Malcolm made a grateful 'ah'ing noise. The sight of the hard wooden floorboards had worried him slightly.

"And there's plenty of food?" he asked.

Ros nodded. "Food, water, torches. Everything we need to survive for the next five days." She threw her sleeping bag and luggage to the ground. "We'll just have to hope we don't go mad and murder each other," she said, with a hint of a twisted grin about her lips.

Malcolm gulped.

"Fancy getting our heads down then?" he suggested.

Ros shook her head. "There's something else I've got to do first," she said. "Follow me, Malcolm; I might need to make use of your raw muscular power."

Malcolm frowned, but he followed her up the stairs nonetheless.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Ros turned into what looked like it might be the master bedroom. "Here," she replied.

Malcolm looked nonplussed.

"Well, I haven't brought you in here to find a novel way to pass the time, have I?" said Ros, rolling her eyes.

She strode purposefully across the room, until she reached the furthest corner, and one of the floorboards creaked beneath her.

"I need your help," she explained. And with that, she began stamping on the end of the board as hard as she could.

Malcolm joined her, though he had absolutely no idea why, and after a few seconds, the board gave one final loud moan, before falling in on itself. Ros reached into the gap, and pulled out a black bin liner.

"Here." She threw one of the guns to Malcolm. "Just in case you change your mind about murdering me," she said, with another dry smile.

Malcolm looked down at the gun in his hands, and part of him wished he lived closer to one of the others.

* * *

Jo looked unenthusiastically around the abandoned-corner-shop-turned-safe-house.

"It's going to be fine," Zaf assured her, dumping his rucksack on one of the camp beds.

Jo regarded him disbelievingly.

"Aside from the fact that it's not exactly the Hilton, you realise that we can't go out for the next five days? This is it. You and me, here, for _five days_."

"It'll be fine, Jo," repeated Zaf. "Like that time we both had the flu', and Harry made us take a week off work."

"And we were cooped up in the flat together all week?"

"Yeah."

"Mmm. That week that you declared that you hated all women and wished I'd never moved in, and I told you that you were an ignorant, chauvinistic pig? That week, you mean?"

Zaf's smile shrank slightly.

"Ye-eah. But it'll work out _this_ time…"

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Bleargh. I really don't like this chapter at all, but it's necessary, I guess.

Also, at the request of my little sister (and supported by reviews) after this chapter, there will be more of Jo and Zaf. =D

Happy reading. x

* * *

Chapter Three

**Friday, January 8****th****. 00:11 (HIDE AND SEEK – NIGHT 1)**

"I'll take the floor," said Harry immediately.

His tone was one that spoke of finality, but Ruth argued of course.

"Don't be silly, Harry," she said. "Look how hard it is. And your shoulder…"

"I'll survive."

"Well, look how damp it is."

"And the mattress will be better, will it?"

Ruth studied the object in question. "Actually," she said honestly, running her palms over it, "I think it's quite dry." Warily, she bent her head towards it, and took a sniff. "Yes. It definitely smells alright."

To further prove her point, she lifted up the corner of the mattress, and revealed how whoever had placed it there had put bin liners over the mulchy carpet first, to protect it.

Harry sighed. "But –"

Ruth cut him off. "Harry, I trust you." She rolled her eyes at his obvious doubt. "The beginning and the end of the matter is that I'm not going to be the one stuck nursing you back to health because you were too pigheaded to accept a warm, dry bed."

Harry didn't say anything immediately.

"I think," he said eventually, "The use of the word 'warm' in this context is slightly optimistic."

Ruth smiled. "Well," she conceded, "Warmish."

* * *

Malcolm had surprised Ros by being a rather skilled fire builder.

"The trick is to let plenty of air get to it," he had explained.

Ros had pulled an unimpressed face, but had dutifully passed kindling and logs to him as he built the flames up. And she couldn't pretend that she wasn't grateful now, as the glowing, steady warmth of the fire washed over her, making her feel snug and contented in her sleeping bag.

"I wonder," started Malcolm, breaking the drowsy silence which had fallen some minutes before, "How the others are doing."

"No doubt Harry will have set up some cushy little love shack for him and Ruth. I bet they're awkwardly trying to work up the courage to hold hands right as we speak."

Malcolm felt safe to smile at Ros' acidic comment, knowing that, as they were lying on opposite sides of the room, backs turned to one another, she couldn't possibly see his response and think that he approved.

Soon, the comfortable silence fell once more, and they were both asleep long before the fire softened into embers.

* * *

Ruth was fast recalling exactly why she had left the 'top tail' technique to fade with her childhood. The truth was, her earlier joviality had been pure, absolute bravado. When they had actually come to settling onto the mattress, a sudden terror had descended upon her. He was Harry. He was her boss. They were…

"Oof." Harry struggled to repress an exclamation of pain, as Ruth kicked the back of his head.

She sighed, not bothering to apologise yet again. If they continued this way, they'd both be hoarse by morning.

"Ruth?" said Harry.

"Yes?"

"Can we please do something about this ridiculous arrangement?"

Ruth hesitated for a moment, unsure what he meant, before eventually nodding in resignation. "Do whatever you want," she murmured. "I just want to sleep."

Harry did not waste time in talking further once he had her permission. Instead, he stood up with admirable fluidity, considering the total darkness of the room, and stretched himself out. Next, he gathered up the tangled mess of blankets, and pulled them up off the bed.

Ruth gasped as the cold air hit her. Even fully clothed, it chilled her to her bones. "Whatever you're doing, Harry, you had better be quick," she growled through gritted teeth.

Harry didn't reply, but simply pinched the corners of blankets together, giving them a violent shake, so that they aligned into a single, thick sheet of fabric. Once that was done, he lay himself back down on the mattress, this time with his head at the same end as Ruth's, and spread the blankets over the both of them.

"Much better," said Ruth, thinking he was finished.

"Come here," said Harry, stretching his arms out, and gesturing that she should lie within them.

Ruth froze.

"Ruth," he pleaded, "This is for your benefit as much as mine. Please."

Ruth hesitated for a second more, before awkwardly positioning herself in his arms. The effect was immediate, and the contact of the embrace flooded each of them with the other's body heat. Harry's final action was to pull the blankets tightly around them, forming a snug cocoon that kept both hips and limbs firmly _on _the mattress.

And both suddenly wished they had offered to take the floor. Almost.

Ruth groaned inwardly. True, she was much warmer than she had been, and she could stretch her legs out as far as she wanted, relieving the painful cramp in her hips, but on the other hand…oh, _God_. She was even less likely to get to sleep now than she had previously been.

Meanwhile, Harry's hands were wrapped tightly into fists as he desperately tried to avoid touching his intelligence analyst in any place which could be construed as remotely inappropriate. He also had the problem of his nose and mouth being irritated by Ruth's flyaway hair, and he desperately wanted to move it, but he knew that blowing on her neck would lead to a hideously awkward moment. That Ruth was determinedly keeping her body as stiff as she could manage without doing herself some sort of injury was not doing anything to relieve his discomfort either.

The bottom line? It was mortifying. And of course, neither of them must enjoy the contact under _any _circumstances.

They didn't sleep…very well.

* * *

**Friday, January 8****th****. 07:32 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Ros went to bed laid straight out on her side, but during the course of the night, pulled herself into a tight ball, her knees almost at her chin.

It was one of the things Malcolm had noticed about her. He also realised that she slept very lightly; more dozing, really. He had been up since six, and in the hour and a half since, had pottered about the bottom floor of the house, rereading his paper, and rebuilding the fire. And he knew that, despite the fact she had not opened her eyes a crack, or made any sound, she had followed his every movement like a hawk. He wasn't offended; she probably didn't even realise that she was doing it.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, seeing that she was finally opening her eyes.

"Mmm." She unfurled herself sleepily and pushed her hair out of her face. "Don't suppose that's hot enough to boil water on?" she asked, gesturing towards the fire.

Malcolm shook his head. "Not for a little while yet."

She groaned and stretched her arms above her head. "No coffee then."

"Afraid not."

Ros flopped her hands over her eyes, massaging her still-heavy lids, and grumbled quietly to herself as she attempted to accept the cold, hard truth that she would have to delay her caffeine fix that morning.

Under the pretence of poking at the fire, Malcolm studied her out of the corner of his eye. She looked strangely…softened…at this time of the day. Her face was clear of makeup, and in the heat of the fire, which had burned most of the night, it had taken on a candy-floss-pink, dewy glow. There were tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead, curling slightly at the ends, held in place with slick perspiration. Her eyes were crystal liquid pools in the gloom.

She looked quite beautiful.

Malcolm hurriedly tore his gaze away from his formidable colleague. He couldn't pretend that he had not entertained the occasional absentminded daydream about Ros, particularly after the incident in the Saudi princes' hotel rooms, but to be staring at her first thing in the morning was more than a little ridiculous, and made him feel somehow dishonest. He turned his focus back to the fireplace.

Meanwhile, Ros' hands froze in their journey through her hair as she realised that she was being studied. Malcolm wasn't exactly gawping at her – though she was more than used to that sort of treatment from men – it was more like he was…learning…her. Subtly, his eyes ran over her, committing the details to memory. She couldn't see why he had chosen now to do it – she looked a wreck. A hot, sweaty, tired, grumpy, wreck.

"Something troubling you, Malcolm?" she asked sharply, pulling herself into a sitting position.

Malcolm turned a glorious shade of red, as he realised not only that he had been rumbled, but that Ros had discarded her bra somewhere in her sleeping bag, during the course of the night.

"You, ah…" he took a deep breath, and met her look defiantly. "You look very different in the morning."

Ros frowned. She hadn't been expecting that. Still, after a moment, realizing that she had hit upon a great opportunity for some fun, she spoke.

"Well, you look different as well." Malcolm looked nonplussed, and she continued. "Rumpled."

"Rumpled?" repeated Malcolm incredulously.

Ros nodded, pulling her shoulders back ever so slightly. "Yes. Very dashing." She grinned at him – one of those grins that met her eyes; of the kind that she always flashed when she was exacting amusement at another person's expense.

Malcolm gulped at her words, and hurriedly laid the poker down. "I'll fetch some breakfast," he mumbled, dashing from the room.

Ros watched him leave, stretched once more, and flopped back down onto her sleeping bag, still grinning widely.

"There _is _something better than coffee in the mornings," she mused with a laugh.

* * *

Zaf finished his morning routine off with a final splash of ice-cold water to his face before crossing back into the room with the beds.

Jo was looking at him rather expectantly.

"I spy?" he proposed.

She threw her hairbrush at him.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what it was that had woken him up. It didn't take him long to realise.

As soon as she felt Harry's chest expanding slowly and regularly against her back, Ruth had wriggled out of his arms, and rolled to the very edge of the mattress. In fact, she had been so desperate to put distance between his sleeping body and her own that she had found herself so barely on the bed at all, that she remained in place only by clinging tightly to the blankets.

And there she had stayed for the duration of the night, periodically dozing off, but never allowing herself to properly fall asleep, for fear of losing her precarious balance, or worse. Except of course, the stress of the evening and the cold air conspired against her, and in the early hours of the morning, she found herself nodding off into a deeper sleep, her grip on the blankets slowly relaxing…

Harry looked over and realised that he had been jerked from a very cryptic dream involving Adam and a coffee mug by the sound of Ruth squealing loudly as she hit the damp carpet.

"Ruth?" he murmured in confusion, "What are you doing down there?"

Ruth recoiled against the squidgy floor, and tried to pull herself back onto the mattress whilst applying as little pressure to her hands and knees as possible. Harry smiled patiently to himself, and anchored an arm around her waist, pulling her up.

"As I was saying," he continued, letting his arm fall away immediately, "_What _are you doing on the floor?"

Ruth averted her gaze, abashed. "I…er…fell. I fell."

Harry regarded her incredulously. "You fell?"

"Yes, Harry. I fell. Do I need to repeat it again?"

He smiled an apology at her. "Sorry. But how on earth did you manage to fall?"

Here, Ruth looked even more embarrassed, and a light blush tainted her cheeks. "I was sleeping on the edge of the bed."

The conversation stilted, Harry's grin disappearing immediately. They simply lay opposite one another for an awkward moment or two, before Harry spoke again.

"I was thinking," he said, shrugging off the blankets and clambering to his feet, "There are more bin liners in the cupboard. We could spread them over the carpet, so one of us can sleep on the floor." His voice was cool and detached.

Ruth looked up at him wordlessly, tugging the blankets to her chin. She felt like an idiot.

"Harry…"

He cut her off sharply. "Also, I seem to remember you saying something about trusting me last night."

There was nothing she could reply to that.

* * *

"_So_," sighed Ros, wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee Malcolm had miraculously summoned up for her, "Five whole days. How will we entertain ourselves?"

For the sake of his sanity, Malcolm decided to take her question at face value. "Well, Adam indicated maximum threat level, so –"

Ros cut him off thoughtfully. "Yeah. I've been wondering what could have called for maximum level Hide and Seek –"

"_Ros_," said Malcolm in an authoritative tone, "You know full well that if we start thinking about that, we really will drive ourselves mad."

Ros grinned, and took a sip of her coffee. "Ooh – perhaps you'll go all 'Jack Nicholson' on me."

"I'm afraid I left my axe at home," deadpanned Malcolm. "_Anyway_," he continued before she could reply, "Maximum threat level means no contact with the outside world, at all, for any reason. And we certainly can't leave the house. So, I'm afraid there isn't really much on offer."

He looked despondently about them, shrugging slightly. Ros however, spotted a chance to drag on her fun from earlier.

"You, me, and an empty house," she said softly, "What _will_ we do?"

"There's a pack of cards in the kitchen," replied Malcolm hurriedly.


	4. Chapter 4

Two apologies - firstly, it's been an age, I know. I have just been sooooo busy. Secondly, you'll have to wait one more chapter for more ZafJo-ness. Sorry!

**Chapter Four**

**Friday, October 8****th****. 08:04 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Harry glared at himself in the mirror.

"Idiot," he sighed angrily at his own reflection. "Damned fool."

Of course she had slept at the edge of the bed. It was unfair to chastise her for such understandable discomfort. This was not a date, or even another charged evening alone together on the darkened Grid. They were both uncomfortable, cold, and worried – the mystery of what circumstances had triggered Adam to pursue the course of action that he had sitting between them, unverbalised.

And there was Ruth, being sensible, keeping her head. It was what he should be doing.

--

Ruth scowled as she wrestled with the tin-opener.

"You're an idiot, Ruth Evershed," she murmured darkly.

Of course she should have trusted him. What did she expect? That he'd quickly feel her up in her sleep?

She discarded the tin-opener momentarily, and crossed her arms over her chest, deciding it was time for a little self-illumination.

Because the truth was, she trusted him implicitly. She had known that it was only his concern for her well-being which had prompted his choice of sleeping arrangements; all that had been running through his head was the question of keeping her warm and comfortable. And she'd thrown it back in his face.

The problem was that she didn't trust herself. There had been a moment, just as he had been falling asleep, his head lolling against hers, that she had allowed herself to relax, just for a second, and it had felt wonderful.

Lying in his arms, knowing that he was consciously protecting her.

It was how she could imagine spending every night in a world where rules did not apply. In an existence where he wasn't her boss, where they weren't both so dedicated to their jobs that they couldn't possiblygive them up in the pursuit of romance.

But it couldn't happen. And that was what last night had been about. The gap she'd put between them was more than just a few inches of mattress; it was the gaping chasm of discipline that kept them apart; she had respected the rules, and run from him once more.

Because it _couldn't happen_.

--

Having both reminded themselves what was at stake, they made light conversation over their breakfast with ease.

Both pretending they were perfectly happy back at square one.

* * *

**Friday, January 8****th****. 11:17 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

'Do you mind not keep eating our betting chips, Miss Myers?"

Ros' face betrayed not a hint of guilt as she threw another peanut into her open mouth.

"I'm bored."

Malcolm sighed impatiently. "Of course you're bored; you're not playing properly."

Ros threw her cards down. "I've never been any good at poker."

"It's not too late to learn," pointed out Malcolm. But he too placed his cards on the floor. "What do you want to do instead?"

"How much time have we killed so far?"

Malcolm studied his watch. "Three hours."

She groaned. "Are you sure your watch is working?"

"Yes, Rosalind. I am quite sure that I can keep a watch in working order."

The sarcasm was not lost on her, and she scowled at him.

"You have a surprisingly short attention span," he continued.

"Only when I'm not doing anything."

"But you're fine when we go on obbo's. I've sat with you for almost six hours before, and you've been perfectly patient."

"Yes, but then there's an objective, a purpose. Plus, we don't have to contend with the knowledge that there are five more days of crippling boredom ahead of us."

Malcolm had to concede that she had a point. "You could have a nap."

A glare. "I'm not eighty."

"Well, then I'm not sure what to suggest, Ros!" Any semblance of patience he had previously been clinging to had evaporated.

"Tell me a story."

"Pardon?"

"Go on. Old warhorse like you; you must thousands of stories of the good old days, when Harry had bad hair, and Juliet still had flesh and muscle where now there's ice."

Malcolm grinned. "Actually, now that I think of it, there is one…"

* * *

Jo turned herself the right way up, and – cheeks red and hair mussed beyond recovery – smiled triumphantly at Zaf, who was sprawled inelegantly on the rug.

"I _told _you I could stand on my head longer than you!"

* * *

**Friday, January 8****th****. 12:22 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Ruth glanced at her watch.

"So, we've covered how horrendously cold the weather is, how disgusting the bathroom is, how much we both already miss hot food, and how uncomfortable it was for you, sleeping in braces that you forgot to remove. And it's _still _a bit too early for lunch."

Harry laughed.

"It's still rather admirable that we've managed to moan for almost four hours."

"I suppose so," grinned Ruth, in reply. "But then, neither of us gets a chance to do it very often."

He nodded his agreement, and they both lapsed into a comfortable, reflective silence for a few moment.

"Come on then," sighed Ruth eventually. "Tell me more about your boy scout days…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Friday, January 8****th****. 13:40 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"I hope Adam's alright," mused Jo aloud, as she swirled her spoon around in her cold soup. "It's the only thing about this plan that I really hate – him being alone."

Zaf looked up.

"Okay, a) the only thing?"

She grinned.

"Okay, so the cuisine isn't great and I don't particularly enjoy spending almost a whole week cooped up with your smelly feet."

"That was below the belt, Portman. Anyway, Adam can more than take care of himself. He works best on his own – you know that."

"I suppose so. Doesn't stop me worrying though."

"That's because you're sweet."

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 13:41 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"…so, to cut a long story short, they escaped. Juliet wearing one of her less eye-catching ensembles, and Harry wearing…one of Juliet's less eye-catching ensembles."

Ros' eyebrows were nearly at her hairline.

"He wore Juliet's clothes?!"

"A very flattering pleated skirt, if I remember correctly."

"Ha! 'Remembered rightly.' I bet you've got photos."

Malcolm grinned delicately.

"Perhaps I saved a couple of seized surveillance shots to bring out on a suitable occasion."

Ros laughed with delight at his admission.

"You have to let me see those, Malcolm. I will pay you a substantial sum for the privilege."

"We'll see…"

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 13:41 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"…so basically, I ended up running for my life from this bloody _deadly _dog, with nothing but a few strategically placed bits of foliage for clothing!"

Ruth shrieked with laughter.

"That's _hilarious_!"

"Mmm," sighed Harry. "I seem to have something of a track record for finding myself in ridiculous outfits."

At this, Ruth laughed even harder.

"Y-yes – I remember Malcolm – show-showing me – some _very _interesting surveillance shots once!" she gasped in between cries.

Harry's expression darkened a little at her words, but he couldn't deny that her delight was infectious.

"Come on then," he said. "I've shared all my most mortifying memories. You've got to have a few of your own."

"Well," said Ruth thoughtfully. "I suppose there was that time I locked myself out of the house wearing nothing but a tiny bath towel."

Harry laughed extra loudly as he attempted to block the involuntary vision of Ruth so scantily clad.

Ruth nodded at his apparent amusement.

"It did make for a very embarrassing visit to my elderly neighbour to fetch the spare key."

Now, Harry's laugh was one of genuine mirth. Ruth continued with her anecdote.

"The worst thing was watching Fidget look at me so smugly from through the window."

Suddenly, Harry saw it as clear as day – Ruth pulling the towel tightly around her, cheeks scarlet and flaming as she muttered death threats at her cat. It was a wonderful sight.

"You're brilliant, Ruth. Really."

Ruth laughed extra loudly as she attempted to hide the involuntary leap of her heart at his words.

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 17:19 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"Best films of all time?"

"We did that before breakfast."

"Worst songs of all time?"

"Did that when we stuck doing surveillance with Adam that time."

"Oh yeah," murmured Zaf. "I can't believe you don't like 'Don't Wanna Miss a Thing'."

"I can't believe you _do_! What are you? A middle-aged woman?"

They sat in thought for a moment.

"I know," said Zaf eventually. "How about 'favorite Harry-losing-his-temper-and-turning-a funny-sort-of-purple moments'?"

Jo giggled.

"I've started thinking of it as 'Harry – now in beetroot flavour'."

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 18:00 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Malcolm regarded Ros thoughtfully as she studied her nails.

"Malcolm, you've been staring at me for ten straight minutes now. What is it that you wanted?"

He considered the question that had been plaguing him, and decided that now simply was not the time. He chose another, far safer, topic instead.

"Would you like toast for dinner? We could do it on the fire."

"How heartwarming," replied Ros blankly.

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 18:00 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

Harry raised the back of his hand to rest on Ruth's cheek.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding confused.

"Checking if you're as cold as you look," he replied authoritatively. "Ruth, you're like marble."

"Well, it's the middle of winter, and we have no heat."

Harry sighed in concern, and unwound his scarf from his neck so that he could coil it around the lower half of Ruth's face, just above her own scarf. He had given her his gloves hours before.

"This is all very chivalrous of you, Harry," said Ruth, sounding a little muffled from behind the thick layer of fabric. "But I don't want to wake up all warm and comfortable in the middle of the night to find that you've frozen to death."

"I'll be fine. Let someone worry about _you _for once, you stubborn woman."

"Yes, well. Considering we found that other bag of blankets, I think we should just go to bed."

It took a matter of seconds for her to suddenly turn scarlet at her own words.

* * *

**Friday, January 8th. 18:00 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"What about that time that Ruth dropped her pencil and bent over right in front of him? That morning she was wearing her black skirt. The tight one."

"No," replied Jo. "That was a very different sort of beetroot moment."

"Wonderful colour he turned though."

"Oh, undoubtedly."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So a review from Deskspook got me off my arse with this one.

Bit of a change here. Basically, the next three chapters will focus on one pair each time. Will be back to normal structure afterwards.

Ros and Malcolm start us off…

**Chapter Six**

**Friday, January 8th. 19:14 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)**

"I haven't been to bed this early in about thirty years," murmured Ros.

Malcolm glanced across at her. She was sat before the fire, cross-legged, with the sleeping bag pulled tightly around her. Her eyes were shimmering in the firelight once more.

"Well, you're not exactly in bed right now," he argued. "We've not even had dinner yet."

"Fair point."

There was an audible crackling sound which directed their attention back to the fire.

"I think the toast's done," noted Ros.

Malcolm removed the poker from the fire and examined the bread.

"I think you're right," he replied. "Have you got the jam ready?"

"Of course."

They spent the next few moments trying to avoid burnt fingers as they spread jam on the scalding toast.

"Shame we don't have any butter," grumbled Malcolm.

Ros grinned.

"Yeah, and some champagne and a couple of proper beds wouldn't hurt either."

Malcolm looked sheepish.

"I was just saying. And you have jam on your cheek."

- - -

**Friday, January 9th. 00:57 (HIDE AND SEEK – NIGHT 2)**

Ros awoke with a gasp, the ghostly figure of her father still dancing before her eyes. She could hear his voice in the silent room. She could see the reproach in his features.

"_Malcolm? _Are you awake?"

Silence.

"Malcolm," she repeated. "Please say that you're awake, you infuriating man."

She heard a deep sigh from the other side of the room.

"Ros, did you say something?"

Then she remembered who she was.

"…no. You must have been dreaming."

- - -

**Friday, January 9th. 05:25 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 2)**

Malcolm awoke to find that there was a hand in his sleeping bag.

Feeling remarkably calm – he was still feeling very sleepy and the hand seemed not to mean him any harm at this very moment in time – he stretched out a finger and poked it.

Somewhere, from the deep recesses of his brain, a voice sighed, 'that, you fool, is _yours_'.

He had apparently fallen asleep with his cheek resting on his left hand, and it was now so numb that he had not recognised it as his own. His usual course of action at a time like this was to dangle his arm over the side of the bed and wait for his blood flow to correct itself. This obviously was not an option, this morning however. The only thing for it was to sit up and shake the numbness off.

The cold hit him like so much ice water as the sleeping bag fell to his waist. He really was going to have to get the fire started again before settling back down – he'd never be able to fall asleep like this.

The third thing he noted, after the temperature and the heaviness of his arm, was the fact that he was not alone. Not that he had thought he was to begin with, but he had been under the impression that he was the only one of the room's two occupants conscious. Obviously he had been mistaken.

Ros had pulled the upper layer of the sleeping bag over her head to shield herself from the cold, but he could see her eyes nevertheless, shining through the darkness, feeding off of the glow of the moonlight. They were steely and unimpressed as they regarded him, but he could see from their glassy sheen that she was struggling to keep herself awake.

And that had probably been the case for most of the night.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of speaking and acknowledging her obvious distress, but this was _Ros_,after all; the kindest thing he could do would be to pretend not to have seen, and therefore leave her pride intact.

So that was exactly what he did.

- - -

**Friday, January 9th. 07:30 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 2)**

The freezing water assaulted Ros' scalp mercilessly as she stuck her head under the tap. She didn't care.

Shampoo, no conditioner. Good.

The sink was tiny and every small movement of her head brought it into contact with either metal or porcelain, sometimes painfully. At this rate, her hair was going to be an absolute bird's nest when she came to try and brush it, and the lack of conditioner was only going to make matters worse.

Good.

Part punishment, part purification, part unforgiving rejuvenation; the less-than-luxurious aspects of washing her hair on this morning were making her feel more and more herself with each passing moment.

After a few moments, Malcolm entered the bathroom behind her – he wasn't being rude, she just hadn't bothered shutting the door behind her.

"You know, there's a bigger sink in the kitchen," he pointed out gently.

Ros didn't look up.

"I'm fine here."

He dithered for a second or two before she lost her temper.

"Did you want anything, Malcolm?" she asked; her voice as cold and abrasive as the water.

"Well," he murmured awkwardly, "I rather wanted to use the toilet actually."

At this, she did look up, and, shutting off the tap, stood up straight and made to leave the room, wrapping a towel around her hair as she did so.

Malcolm sighed as he closed the door behind her. He had decided against pointing out the scratch on her forehead; she had probably noticed it herself anyway.

- - -

She rolled her sleeping bag up briskly and stowed it in the corner, before diverting her attention to aimlessly poking at the fire Malcolm had started before going upstairs.

He had seen her last night, when she'd been mercilessly depriving herself of sleep for fear that she would have another dream about her father.

It was all very well people pointing out that he had done evil things and deserved to be in prison; he wasn't those _people's _father. Dad, she'd called him. She'd helped to put her dad in prison.

And now he haunted her dreams.

_You put me in here, Rosalind. _

_Ros._

_Darling. _

_You put me in here, Darling._

_Was it worth it? Does Harry Pearce make a better father than me? Did your __**career**__ survive the terrible blow? Is your pride intact?_

_You disgust me._

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Malcolm's voice, penetrating the silence worriedly.

"Ros?"

Her neck snapped round, and she stared coolly at him.

"You can't leave me alone for more than five seconds, can you?" It was supposed to sound like teasing, but her voice was bitter and cruel.

He surprised her. Jutting out his chin, he shot back a reply immediately.

"Your cabin fever jokes worried me – you were stabbing at that fire as though you meant it some considerable harm."

She looked down and saw, to her surprise, that she was indeed holding the fire poker. She regarded it thoughtfully.

"When I was younger, I used to wait until the poker was really hot and use it to write my name in the kindling."

She wasn't looking at Malcolm as she spoke, but he replied nonetheless.

"That's a good point, actually. You owe _me _some stories today."


End file.
